


Anonymity

by Kalael



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Easter of '68, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-25
Updated: 2013-01-25
Packaged: 2017-11-26 19:46:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/653783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalael/pseuds/Kalael
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He is the ultimate prankster, the greatest magician, the illusionist and the master escapist.  He is a performance artist.</p><p>(Jack tries to make his existence a little less sad by playing pretend.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anonymity

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Karoimirth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Karoimirth/gifts).



> So this is the prompt I got from Karoimirth:
> 
> [As a prompt I've been playing for a while with a little idea of exploring how Jack felt during those 300 years of loneliness; like, having as the only proof that he existed the fact that he could interact with the world, even if the world never answered back. ("It was almost as if they saw him through the snow, almost enough to make it bearable." I wrote those two lines and gave up :B.) Something like whether it was insufficient or close enough for him to keep going.  
> I would love more bitter-sweetness And Jack/Bunny is always appreciated.]
> 
> I started writing and ended up with something longer than my usual Carousel drabbles ahaha.

Jack pretends that it’s a game, a very grand scheme on par with the mysteries of Easter Island and the Sphinx. He’ll bring snowstorms and snow days and create ice in the middle of summer, and no one is the wiser. He is the ultimate prankster, the greatest magician, the illusionist and the master escapist.

He is a ghost but at least he can entertain the world. His applause is the laughter of children in a snowball fight, the smile of a mother making a snowman with her kids, the bewildered expression of the business man who slips on a patch of black ice. Jack gives an elaborate bow as the wind sweeps him up and away.

He wonders if any of the other anonymous do-gooders feel a little hollow after a while. Everyone wants some sort of recognition for the work they do, don’t they? Jack presses the thought back because that’s selfish, and he is a performance artist. He should live for the thrill of doing it, not for the chance to shake someone’s hand.

_(He’s tired of the hands that go straight through his body as though he is made of loose snow.)_

For a while he entertains the thought of retiring, but after a few months of wandering without doing much of anything, Jack realizes that retirement comes at the end of your life and he is going to live forever. Retiring is pointless and a little bit boring. He returns to performing.

All the world is his stage.

Who wrote Shakespeare’s plays? Shakespeare, obviously, but not everyone believes that he did. Jack is the guy who brings the snow but people are skeptical. That’s okay. Someday he would go down in history books as the greatest…ghost. He would be more famous than the Tooth Fairy, the Easter Bunny, and even Santa Claus. He would be great someday.

_(He’s told himself that for two hundred years.)_

It’s the Easter of ’68 and Jack wants to try something new, something that’s never been done before. His imaginary crowd cheers him on as he creates one of his best blizzards yet. The eggs will look so pretty on the snow, all gleaming with color on the stark white backdrop. He’s a performance artist and this time he wants a little recognition. He deserves a little bit of that. He doesn’t expect the Easter Bunny to get pissed off at him, boomerangs flying while kids run through the snow searching for eggs. The bunny is so angry that he doesn’t see the children shrieking with laughter as they lob snowballs at each other, guarding their eggs from each other and turning a snowy Easter into a fantastical battleground.

It’s the first time someone has seen him at work and Jack feels as though his cold, dead heart has been ripped right out of him. The kids are having fun but the bunny doesn’t even notice, too caught up in his own world to even think about the painstaking details that Jack has put into the frosted patterns gracing the trees or the little ice eggs that litter the ground for kids to find.

“Get outta here, ya nuisance!” The Easter Bunny shouts, and Jack laughs him off because when your crowd is booing you offstage you just have to ignore them. He is great. He is wonderful. The bunny throws another boomerang and this one catches Jack off-guard just enough that he’s open for a blow to the head. The fur on the bunny’s paw is warm and soft but his claws are biting and if Jack could bleed he’s sure that there would be cuts down his cheek. It’s the closest thing to a handshake he’s ever received.

_(It’s the closest thing to human contact that he’s ever felt.)_

Jack leaves and he refuses to accept that he is heartbroken, refuses to acknowledge the tears streaking his cheeks.

He is a performance artist. This is just a setback.

The world just isn’t ready for Jack Frost.

_(If he’s anonymous, they can’t hurt him.)_

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry if this isn't anything like you expected, Karoimirth!! The prompt got away with me.


End file.
